Sessions Interrupted

by Kristi Pelton

  Once we were released, he walked me out to the parking lot.

  “I rode the bike. Sorry.”

  I noticed the helmet clipped to it and without another word he unfastened it.

  “I can’t stay with you, Kieran,” I said softly.

  He gently fastened the helmet beneath my chin.

  “This isn’t open for discussion, Doc. I told the police they could find you at my place.”

  Obviously, exhaustion was winning out because I had nothing left inside to fight this battle. I knew Ruthie’s semi-in-laws were staying with them and well, that would be awkward being on the sofa. After positioning himself on the bike, he held his arm out for me like before and I slung my leg over the leather. As soon as I wrapped my arms around him, his muscles tensed on a sharp intake of breath and then he started the bike.

  I didn’t know how far away he lived so I rested my cheek on his back as he carefully navigated his bike on the city streets. Holding on to him…embracing him…smelling him…wanting him…well, this damn near broke every ethical agreement I vowed when I got my license and for the love of God, I couldn’t let go if I wanted to.

  When we turned into the well- lit neighborhood, I was surprised at the condos. They were nicer than I expected him to live in. Now I was doubly embarrassed of the place I called home. Kieran rolled to a stop in front of the all stone home and parked the bike, killing the engine. The night was quiet and I closed my eyes relishing the silence.

  “You ok?” he asked and my arms vibrated when he spoke because they were still encasing him. Oh God!

  “Oh! I’m sorry,” I quickly dropped my arms to my side and slid off.

  “No worries,” he said and in the sexiest strut I’d ever seen, he shuffled to the garage, used the keyboard and opened it.

  Then he walked the bike inside and parked it next to a black Porsche. A Porsche!

  “Nice ride,” I smirked.

  He smiled. “I’m keeping it for somebody.”

  “This is your place?”

  He opened the door leading into the house.

  “This is it. Still looking for a roommate so this may work out perfectly.”

  He tossed his keys in a decorative basket by the door and I followed him into the kitchen. The floors were a beautiful wood and the countertops granite. I stopped walking and started thinking. Thoughts swirled through my mind about how he could live in a place like this. How could he afford it? I bit my tongue wondering if it had to do with his parent’s life insurance money.

  “Does a roommate offset the cost of a place like this?” I smiled.

  He nodded. “I’m sure one would. I know it’s late but would you like a beer?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  After grabbing a couple of bottles from the fridge, he twisted the caps off and tossed them on the counter top; then he clinked my bottle before he took a swig. He stared at me for a second then held up his finger for me to wait.

  This house was perfect. Tastefully decorated. Not your typical bachelor pad that I expected.

  Within a few moments, he was back with a shampoo bottle and a towel.

  “Let’s wash that blood from your hair.”

  I reached up and tried to drag my fingers through the dried, matted mess that I’d somewhat forgotten about.

  “Oh, come on now. This is pretty hot,” I said lifting a clump.

  He only smiled. I snatched the shampoo and walked to the kitchen sink.

  “Axe shampoo?” I shot him a look pursing my lips.

  “It’s either that or Dawn dish soap.” He winked.

  “I’m sure all your ladies appreciate washing with this in the morning, Mr. Scott,” I said his name with a smile.

  “Yeah,” is all he said. “I’d offer you a shower but with that bandage, I figured this was enough.”

  I pointed to the kitchen sink. “Here?”

  He nodded. Something was wrong with him…he wasn’t normal ‘Kieran.’

  “You ok?”

  Another nod. “Yeah,” he said tipping his beer and finishing the bottle.

  I turned my back to him and moved toward the sink. The refrigerator door opened and closed and I heard the bottle cap land on the granite again.

  By the time I put my head under the faucet, the water was running hot so I adjusted it and then a surge of warmth spread through my body as the water soaked my head. When I saw the blood swirling down the sink it all came back to me. An uncontrollable sob broke free as the massive weight of the night collapsed over me. Before I could stop it, I began to cry thinking about the life lost and the one hanging in the balance.

  Unexpectedly, Kieran’s massive hands began to massage my head. He must have opened the shampoo because a masculine, sporty, menthol smell fluttered through my nose as his hands worked a lather into my strands. The soothing pressure of his fingertips as he massaged small circles into my scalp comforted me. A different kind of heat spread through my body. It was one of tenderness…of kindness…gentleness…my heart swelled and I covered my face as more tears came. As if he knew what I felt, he stepped closer to support my legs, and as they grew weaker, he wrapped an arm around my waist and held me in place with his pelvis.

  Never in my life did I think having my hair washed could be so erotic. And I think I cried in that moment not just because of Andrew and Jamari but also because of Kieran and knowing that this could never progress to more, as much as I wanted it to.

  The water ran clear and sadly, I knew he was done. The water shut off and I closed my eyes not wanting the moment to end, when I felt the towel wrapping around my head. Suddenly, I was lifted up and cradled in his arms as he walked me into a living area. Another first.

  “Kieran…don’t…”

  “Let’s stick with Mr. Scott, Doc.”

  A smile spread over my face and a smile touched the corners of his mouth too.

  “Mr. Scott, please put me down,” I said more formally but still with a smile.

  “Don’t…,” he whispered with serious eyes.

  “Don’t what?”

  He sat in a brown, leather recliner and when I went to move from his lap, his grip around me tightened.

  “Don’t what?” I asked again trying desperately not to make eye contact.

  “Look Doc, you’ve made it clear this can’t go further. You’re hurting. You’re sad. For a couple weeks you’ve begged me to open up. Well. I…don’t do this. I don’t… talk. I don’t…hold girls…ever…never. So, I’m only guessing that it would feel good for you to be held and for just a moment, it makes me feel human.”

  Finally, my eyes slowly inched up to his, which were rounded and needful and the brown inside them simmered. Desperately wanting to give him this, I rested my cheek on his chest and when he repositioned himself deeper into the chair and surrounded me more fully with his arms, I’d have sworn he’d done this a thousand times before.

  Chapter 17—Kieran

  My heart was close to spontaneously combusting when she rested her cheek on my chest. A silent gasp escaped my throat and I hoped she didn’t feel me react. As foreign and unfamiliar as it was to me, I knew she needed this. I needed to help get her mind off what had happened tonight.

  “So tell me something, Mr. Scott. Anything.”

  I grinned where she couldn’t see because deep down this Mr. Scott bullshit amused me. She always managed to make me smile. I rubbed the towel thoroughly through her hair then tossed it on the floor.

  “You’re gonna have to be more direct than that. Guide me, Doc.”

  She giggled. “OK. Umm. What’s your favorite pizza?”

  A chuckle rumbled through my chest. “That one’s deep, Freud. Pepperoni. Yours?”

  “Same. What’s your favorite ice cream?”

  “I don’t eat ice cream.”

  “Kieran! You have to say,” she threatened, nudging me with her shoulder.

  Another chuckle rolled through me. “Why do I have to say? I honestly don’t eat ice cream.”

  “
You don’t eat it! But what’s your favorite kind if you do?” she asked pinching my side.

  “Chocolate malts. Made with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce.”

  Her gray eyes flickered up to mine. “Wow. For someone who doesn’t eat it, that’s pretty darn specific.”

  “Well, you asked. What’s yours?”

  She shook her head. “Peppermint. It reminds me of Christmas.”

  “I’ve never had peppermint, I don’t think.”

  “Well, we should put that on the list,” she said with certainty.

  I wondered what list she was referring to but my heart expanded just a bit thinking about doing something more with her outside of our sessions. “The list?” I asked.

  “What’s the prettiest place you’ve ever been?” She ignored me.

  I couldn’t answer that one. It was either Turks and Caicos or Switzerland; but she couldn’t know that. Not yet.

  “I think the Pacific Northwest is the most beautiful area around. Truly.” That wasn’t a lie.

  She nodded. “I so agree.”

  “How about you?” I asked and realized I was running my fingers through her wet, tangled hair. I stopped. There was no way I could let this go too far.

  “I’ve never been anywhere outside of Oregon or across the Columbia into Washington.”

  Wow. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Why didn’t you go to college?” she asked.

  I gently pulled on her wet strands forcing her to look at me. “What makes you think I didn’t go to college?”

  Her eyes rounded as if she were scared so I released her hair. Fear wasn’t something I ever wanted her to feel around me.

  “I don’t know. Because you’re a bouncer. I’m sorry…I guess…”

  “Don’t be sorry. I graduated from U of O with my degree in accounting. I’m an accountant, Doc.”

  She shot upright. “You are not!”

  “Come on now. I’ve got it written all over my face.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “You’re right! You look just like a little accounting nerd. I tell you what, you’d do some accounting firm justice.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked chuckling.

  “I can see it now. You in a white button-down and dark dress slacks. Shirt unbuttoned. Your abs tanned and rippling. A pen slid behind your ear. Maybe your Harley sitting back behind you. And the accounting firm’s name at the base of the ad. Plastered on a billboard.” She made a clicking sound with her mouth. “You, Mr. Scott, would send thousands of woman plummeting into the Columbia here in Bridgetown.”

  “Bridgetown? No one says that anymore. And you’ve never seen my abs. To show you my abs would be crossing therapeutic lines.” A slow smile crept over my face.

  Her deep laughter warmed me through and through but I saw her touch the bandage near her neck.

  “You ok?” I asked.

  “My dad calls it Bridgetown. I didn’t know it was Portland for years.”

  I found myself sliding my fingers through the strands of her hair again but this time I didn’t stop and she didn’t stop me. I think I could listen to her talk for hours, which surprised the hell out of me given that no other girl had gotten that side of me.

  “I hate bridges,” I added.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Always have since I was little. The Astoria bridge scares the living shit out of me.”

  “I’ve seen pictures. I hate June bugs,” she said shivering.

  This cracked me up and I laughed out loud. “I hate grapefruit juice and buttermilk.”

  “Yuck! Me too! I hate wasps.”

  I laughed again. “I see a theme here. I hate tapioca.”

  “Yuck. Me too! The consistency! I hate coffee.”

  “I love coffee. I hate judgmental pricks.”

  She laughed. “I hate rich people but especially rich pricks.”

  This one stopped me…like literally paralyzed me. “That’s… pretty global. You can’t say that. You’re lumping a lot of people you don’t know in one category. That’s harsh.”

  “OK. I hate all the rich people I’ve encountered except for two. Better?”

  I adjusted, inching her closer to me somehow feeling as if she was slipping away.

  “Who have you encountered?”

  She took in a long slow breath and lowered her chin to my chest. “Kieran…”

  In that moment, I knew our conversation was done being funny. I didn’t answer to my name, I only tightened my hold on her.

  “My dad was…is…an abusive alcoholic. He would hurt my mom. Sometimes at night, I’d shut myself in my closet covering my ears.”

  I closed my eyes tightly as she talked because for some reason her story hurt me. I would never tell her that she’d already told me. Regardless, it was like hearing it for the first time.

  “He had never hurt me. Until she left. I have to believe that she believed that he never would have raised a hand to me or she wouldn’t have left me there. And that damn first black eye changed everything. My teacher called Child Protective Services. I was removed from his home. For the next five years. I was in and out of foster homes plus back to his home until he hit me again. Rich pricks number one. The foster home had two boys. One was nice. One wasn’t. He’d come into my room at night.”

  I popped my neck knowing what was coming.

  “But I’d learned some moves from daddy and I popped him first in the eye and then the nuts. Didn’t stay in that home long. But I picked up my first battery charge.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me?” I raised my voice.

  “Nope,” she said. “Went to two poorer foster homes which treated me at least fairly. But one of the moms was sick with cancer and by the time I’d been at the other one for a month, my dad had completed treatment and his anger management. So I went back home. It was the fourth foster home where I encountered rich prick two. It was Christmas. I had a visit with my dad where I got some little things but Christmas with my foster family—I was so excited about. A big, decorated, six-bedroom stone home that I would have killed to live in. There were a hundred presents under that tree. I’d been there about a year so they knew me. But out of all those presents.” She paused.

  I waited with my teeth clenched and grinding together.

  “I got a book. A book. And that’s OK. I appreciated that. But when their son and daughter opened their PS 4 and Xbox 360 and TVs…I sat looking at my book and simply thought, I hope no other kid ever feels this way. That family had the opportunity and the means to make me feel special for just that moment in time and they didn’t.”

  I was speechless. Then her feathery gray eyes stared up at me.

  “I’m sorry. My guess is there are good rich people out there too.”

  She rose up, leaning away from me and I allowed it as much as I didn’t want to.

  “There are a few for sure. But the last family I was with…richest pricks of all. I was seventeen and the dad, he…he shoved me to the bed one night and told me what he was going to do to me while I was there…in a very graphic detailed way….the whole time squeezing my breast so hard it brought tears to my eyes. Then he rubbed his thumb over my nipple repeatedly. And it pissed me off because in that moment, my body betrayed me. What he did felt good but I wanted to vomit at the same time. I can still smell his breath sometimes.”

  My lip was pulled into full snarl and I fought to control my breathing. Fucking asshole. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. A few days later when I knew his wife was going out of town, I told her. She called me a trashy little whore and requested I be moved immediately.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “The only two rich people I’ve ever liked, the two that took me into their home and helped me finish college,” she explained and yawned. My T-shirt was drenched from where she laid. Without thinking, I tugged my shirt off with one hand and tossed it to the floor.

  I patted my chest again and felt stupid after I did
it. She wasn’t a dog, for fuck’s sake. But, she lay back down. Feeling her skin on mine—a warm feeling tingled inside my chest and for a second, I thought she was going to kiss my skin and I braced myself for impact.

  “Foster parents?” I quickly asked trying to distract her.

  “No,” she said quietly and I think she was tuckering out. “During college I dated some guy. Clearly I was having some daddy issues because he smacked me very similarly to my father.”

  I repositioned myself beneath her and thought about what I’d do if I saw a guy hit her. A reverberating growl festered in my chest.

  “I went to a shelter to get away from this guy and I met an angel there,” she said with the most sincere smile and even her eyes smiled but then came another yawn.

  I didn’t ask anything else and I didn’t say anything more. She’d had an emotionally traumatizing day. Hell, she’d had an emotionally traumatizing life. I was definitely not in her best interest and I knew that. Somewhere deep inside I knew I’d hurt her. I’d be another layer of shit on top of her already existing shit. Bringing her here was a bad idea. Having her snuggled up next to my body was the worst fucking idea I’d ever had.

  Her body relaxed fully in my arms as her breathing became deep and heavy. Sleep had finally settled over her and I was glad. So, I closed my eyes.

  Her whimpering and restlessness brought my eyes open and I realized one of my arms was across her head. When I moved it she nestled closer, actually rolling into a ball with her head resting on my stomach. Her breath blew over my abs tickling the hair below my belly button. My damn dick starting growing and that’s exactly why she needed to stay the hell away from me. I’d be one more person in a long list that had hurt her. She’d had enough hurt for a lifetime. I refused to do it.

  “ANDREW!!!!!”

  The blood curdling screamed echoed in the house; and I shot up ready to kill whoever was there.